Lucifer
by maeyan
Summary: Lucifer/God Jesus/Judas I've changed the rating to T for some peoples' sensibilities. I've also re-arranged the chapters a bit and added in three. CH8 finished 11-2009. Enjoy
1. Expulsion

I am Lucifer  
  
I love him. He knows and that makes it hurt even more. To never see him again. To never look at him, hear his voice, feel his touch, his presence. To know that somewhere the light still touches his face and erases the crags of time; the cares of the world erased with a sunbeam, and I am not there to see it. I no longer run my hand along his face, guiding the light to the new creases I find. And yes, I still love him.  
  
He made me love him; I never had a choice, despite what anyone thinks.  
  
That day. I'd spent the night hating him, the morning loving him. How I always spent my time. No choice, you see. No choice.  
  
Since the dawn of time... no that's wrong. I wasn't around then. The first day, that's when I first loved him. And every day after that. Even today, which is to say, tonight.  
  
I no longer guide the sun though I sometimes hide behind the moon, to try to catch the reflections of the light that was once my whole existence. I used to curse his name in the night, and now I find it is the only time I can say it aloud - why waste my breath with hatred now? When it is the only breath I have? My love for him once faded at night, and grew to the swelling of the dawn. Now I have no sun and I find that my love for him is still there.  
  
That day. It was a beautiful day. I'd dressed the day with all of my love for him and he knew, he knew what he was going to do to me. He never gave me a choice.  
  
I remember it. Remember... hah. I relive it every night. He rises. He opens the doors. He steps into the light. He lifts his arm as if to wave good morning, but that's not what he's doing. The pain hits me as I am torn from the sun, as my wings are ripped from my back. But worse. He turns to me and I see that he doesn't care. He never did love me - I was a bastard child, a toy, a tool. All this I saw in his eyes as he broke me and sent me hurtling away from everything I ever knew. From him.  
  
It was day, and I loved him. The whole of creation was bathed in the love I held for him and it burned me, the sunlight did. I am no longer able to stand the sun - what was once my joy is now my demise. I ran, hid among strangers, and died a thousand deaths at each mention of his name. Finally I found peace of sorts, in the darkness. My antithesis is now my salvation, my balm. And sometimes, I steal glances at him, quick painful looks that sustain me through the daylight. And if I curse him then, it is only because he knows. And if at night I speak his name, it is because I still love him. 


	2. Newly added: Sealed Hearts

An angel has gone to hell. No one ever told him he had a choice, that he could explain, ask for forgiveness. It never occurred to anyone that there was any other way than this. Even he thought he deserved it, in that fraction of a second when his mind was cleared of its old chains and before the new shackles were set in place.

There are many angels in hell, and he wonders what any of them has done to possibly equal his crime, his sin, his great evil. For his must be the greatest of all. It must be.

The angels of hell are just as beautiful to behold as any other, but their hearts are too heavy for their wings to lift. 


	3. First Interlude

~Interlude~  
  
It was dark when the light came and he blinked. It hurt. He wanted to cry, and would have if he'd only known how. Or was he already. It was hard for him to tell in the light.  
  
So much to see, things disappeared and existed at the merest whim of the light. He saw familiar objects for the first time. He found himself lost and bewildered by the world now surrounding him. How did he get there? Where was he? Where was home?  
  
Everything and nothing joined hands in the light and he was more frightened than he had ever thought possible. How could he have lived so long without knowing so much was? Should he have known that so much *wasn't*?  
  
It hurt. And so he closed his eyes to the light, returning to the comfort of the dark he had always known and believed in. It wasn't the same as before, he knew, because now - he knew - but he could pretend. 


	4. Drinking

Drinking.  
  
The light was dim, as if someone had taken all the bulbs and replaced them with fireflies. It was impossible, of course, but the image was there, flickering like the light, licking at the edges of his mind. He drained his drink and shoved the glass towards the bartender, a silent demand that was quickly answered. He looked around at the others that had gathered to drown the rest of their mortality in liquor. All normal men and women on the outside, but he knew better. Oh yes, he knew so very well.  
  
He didn't like coming out like this. In plain sight? Where anyone could see him, recognize him? No. He didn't like it, but at night he had to. That was when the emotions he couldn't control threatened to overtake him.  
  
He sipped his second drink slower than the first, but still drained it faster than was probably good for him. The ways mankind thought up to forget were beyond his comprehension, but not beyond his reach. Or use. He slapped a bill on the bar and reached for his third glass. The alcohol was just beginning to dull the pain that had been building in his center of being. He snorted. 'The center of his being.' He wasn't sure if it was a cliché or not, but it was definitely more accurate than he wanted to acknowledge. Even if he was well on his way to being drunk.  
  
He lifted the drink and found himself mesmerized by the way the soft lights bent and broke while traveling through the glass and the liquid. Light. He missed the way the beams danced, twirled, laughed. How long had it been since he'd walked in the light? In his light? His precious light. He snorted again, brought the glass to his lips and drank the whisky - killing the light.  
  
No longer was it his beloved light. His love was no more, or rather, his love was no longer worth anything. The sun rose and fell and he had nothing to do with it. He could no longer turn and heave a sunbeam at a friend, toss a flicker at a passing fancy. Did he even want to anymore? He didn't know, didn't care.  
  
The fire he felt inside was different, now. No longer a life-fire but neither was it death. Never could be, for him. Humans loved and hated, laughed and cried, lived and died. But for him? Nothing.  
  
He shrugged off the bartenders questioning look, paid for the last drink and grabbed the hat and coat from the stool next to him. There were no horns to hinder the hat he shoved low over his fair hair, and he only barely winced at the weight that hit his now barren back. It was his second week without wings and he still wasn't used to the loss. He pushed his way out into the darkened streets, paused for a moment as if unsure which way to turn, then disappeared into the shadows.  
  
In the bar, the lights slowly flickered back to life and the bartender sighed. He liked the new guy; the tips were always nice when the customer was heartbroken. But as nice and as quiet as the guy was, the lights thing was weird and getting on his last nerves. He shook his head and answered another call for a refill, wondering about the sanity of someone who could dump a nice guy like that. 


	5. Second Interlude

~Interlude 2~  
  
How long do you live before you realize you have wings? I never noticed them until I fell. Like light, it's something to take for granted. Invisible, yet a surety, for how could you ever forget or lose either? Always there and forever a part of you, even if unseen. Ten fingers ten toes two eyes two ears a mouth wings a heart a spleen two kidneys large intestine small intestine a nose two elbows... the list goes on. Did you notice them even then? When did you notice you had wings? Surely you've noticed by now? Surely, for you still have wings. 


	6. Temptation

I don't want to be here. Dear god, I don't want to be here.  
  
He crests the hill and I take a last drag on the cigarette before it disappears from my hand. I exhale the last of the smoke- Why no cigarettes yet? - they have fire, herbs - even paper, after a fashion...  
  
Well, anyway, it's gone and I'm here.  
  
He approaches slowly, but he's not afraid. Of what I represent or of me. I stand and wait; let him approach. If I start to move I might run.  
  
As he gets closer I notice his hands extend. They don't shake hands here - another not yet - they embrace. I run my hand over my face. Dear god, I don't need this. He may look like his mother, but even from here I can tell he's his father's child.  
  
I hold him away with a hand to his chest. He raises an eyebrow, but drops his arms. Thank you. Oh, thank you for being like him that way. The wind picks up a bit and my fingers twitch as I drop them from his firm body. He's warm; a warmth I haven't felt in a while.  
  
Dammit but I want another cigarette. My throat itches slightly, craving smoke and tar as I stand in this pristine night air and look at him.  
  
"I don't want to do this." I say aloud the mantra I've been repeating to myself all evening. He looks into my eyes and smiles *that* smile. Damn him. Damn them both...  
  
"Do you think that I want to be here?" he says with a small laugh.  
  
If you're anything like him, yes. "Do you know who I am?"  
  
He nods, hair falling into his dark eyes. "Sometimes I remember things." And he casts a quick glance over my shoulder. To where my namesake will appear in just a few hours.  
  
Remember? He didn't... he isn't... No. I'd have known if *HE* was here. Known absolutely that He was around. Close. Touchable. No, it's just as I've been told. Maybe a bit more so, but still... Not truly Him.  
  
I relax the muscles I hadn't clenched and turn to look out at the city. I hear him as he steps closer.  
  
"We have no choice..." he hands me words I've heard before, words I myself uttered so long ago... For me they are words of fear and hatred and rebellion, slashing and tearing, words of death and despair. Yet I can hear in his voice that he's smiling, happy. Almost eager. He doesn't know how heavy those words will become. I stare silently at the small cluster of lights and shadows in the distance and try not to let the tears fall. I can't do this. I just can't do it.  
  
"... It's my Father's plan"  
  
"Your father is a carpenter from Bethlehem." My response is automatic, programmed into me from the moment I was created. I have a part to play and no choice about it. He was right about that. So I show him everything I know he will refuse and promise him nothing that is in my power to actually give him.  
  
When the farce ends, he walks away triumphant and I am left sitting alone among the rocks.  
  
I swirl the dust once more and see the scenes I didn't show him. The ones I should have, if I'd wanted to win. The ones that would have made him stop. That had the power to make him stay and refuse to be a toy in his father's hands. The ones that would have saved so much pain and hate and anger. The ones that would have spared them both from death.  
  
My fingers twitch again and I stand, kicking the discarded future back into dust. I need a cigarette. 


	7. Newly added: Him

The high vaulted ceilings brought a certain richness to the sound that reached his ears and he paused. Joy. Being sung by voices that meant every nuance, every syllable. It was music that didn't belong in these gaudy gilded halls where the government was so acutely separated from the people it served. But there it was and for a moment his expression was soft as he recalled how even he had once belonged to a choir, had once released the love in his heart through voice, through music. A name passed his lips, an unbidden whisper.

It had been an unrequited love.

His features hardened as he remembered why he no longer sang, and he started again towards the other side of the building. He slowed as he passed through the rotunda and saw a crowd swaying silently as they gathered around the choir he'd already heard. A demonstration against current legislation, he easily determined from the signs and propaganda T-shirts. The song ended and the choir immediately began another. He quickened his step and shifted his tie.

His appointment was waiting for him and he couldn't smoke again until he left the building. 


	8. Newly added: Luce

I toss my jacket onto a table and sink into the nearest chair, covering my face with my hand. I'm not really tired, but it feels like it; there's so much to carry, and at the moment it's all manifesting in the 'man' who followed me from the bar.

I can hear him shuffle his feet, trying not to look at the place where I've been living for how long now. It's his first time here - his first time seeing me like this at all, actually. How had I managed to escape him for so long? We haven't spoken since then. No, longer than that; you never really expect to never see someone again. At least not us. Not back then; now I know differently. I guess he does too.

"What do you want?" I finally grumble at him, uncomfortable with the soft memories he's bringing back just by showing up. I'd almost rather talk to Michael than him.

"I just... I don't understand, Luce. I don't understand why you did it?" His voice isn't the steadying calm I remember and I remove my hand to look at him. Damn. Of all of them, I would have said to spare him. Not because he wouldn't be strong enough, but because I didn't want him to need to be.

"It's simple, Rafe: I didn't." I shrug, then push myself up from the chair and walk past him to the bookshelf, looking for a pack of cigarettes. Not hard to find, since it's the only thing there, and I turn back towards him as I'm lighting up one of the coffin-nails. Rafe hasn't turned towards me, but his head is cast down. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. "You don't believe me."

"He says you did. He told us... everything."

Like hell He did. Used His 'Voice', like always. I don't even have strength in me to argue the point. I take a drag and exhale into the air above me, a small inconsequential attempt at an insult for His lies. "And you believe Him?"

Rafe finally looks up at me and I swear his eyes look like he's struggling, as much as I know that's no longer possible. "I have no choice, Lucifer, remember?" I know it's me, my wanting, but his voice saying my full name right then sounds plaintive and even slightly accusing. If we were other people... if we were people, I'd say he wanted me to apologize so he could get angry at me for it.

"Yeah. I remember having no choice, Raphael." How long has it been since I called him by his name? "Look this is getting nowhere. If you don't believe me then why are you even here? What do you want from me if you don't want the truth?"

"I know the truth of your sin against Him, Luce... " I can see he's looking for something else to say but he only shakes his head. I watch him leave. He's always been so strong, so peaceful and steady and understanding and always just there when I needed him. And yet, the one time when I really do need a friend, he can't be there. Here. Now. But damn, do I want him to be. I want to tell him and have him understand. But his entire existence if for the One who made me like this, and Rafe can't change that. No matter what. That was the second price for my 'sin'.

The truth of my sin. Ha. I take another drag and find the taste no longer satisfying, almost filthy. I toss the cigarette butt towards the closed door that stands between us - the physical one. "Do you want to see the scars?" I yell after it. "I didn't do anything but trust Him too much, dammit! You want to touch where they used to be? Where He personally ripped them from my back? Want to hear how I still scream? How He uses me wherever He needs a dirty job done, how I get the blame for anything slightly unwanted that happens to his little pets? I did nothing but love Him!"

The cigarette falls to the floor at the same time I do. Dammit, why did he have to show up? 


End file.
